


Just A Drink

by phantomzone08



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Fighting, Death Threats, Detectives, Episode Related, Everyone Thinks They're Subtle But They're Not, Female Jim Gordon, Female Protagonist, Fights, Gossip, Harvey Is So Done, How not to handle mobsters 101, Organized Crime, Oswald's First Club, Season/Series 01, Strained Friendships, Strong Female Characters, Typical Gotham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomzone08/pseuds/phantomzone08
Summary: Detective Jayme Gordon went to Oswald's opening with the intent to get one,  maybe two very well deserved,  very needed drinks.Sure,  she turned down the invitation,  but that was before she spent hours in a hospital with a screaming, terrified teen begging for help she couldn't give.  Now she needed that drink and the place was on her way home.Contrary to Harvey's complaints,  she did not go there to get on Maroni's bad side.  Again.Fem!James Gordon





	Just A Drink

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not yet ready to deal with Gotham being nearly over. We have like, two episodes and it's over forever! I can't handle it, so I'm rewatching it. I want the last episodes, whatever they are, but I dread them because then there are no more!
> 
> So I've gone a little crazy writing a bunch of Gotham stuff for my own preservation of television sanity.

It had been a day! The sort of day that would have made almost anyone take up drinking again.  Fortunately, Jayme never swore off it unless being on duty prevented it. That was not a problem her partner, Harvey, was acquainted with,  but she took sobriety during work seriously.  You never knew when you need to be quick,  reflexes unhindered. 

She sighed,  leaning her head back against the cushioned booth, sinking even lower in the seat to be sure no one noticed her sitting there in a club she should by rights not be in, slouching or otherwise; drinking or sober. 

Detective Jayme Gordon did the only thing she could do and turned the collar of her coat up to better hide her face while she burrowed into the booth.

While publicly she refused to go with all due disdain, privately,  she still felt guilty about it,  but not enough to go.  That is until her night turned into such a mess. She had thrown away Oswald's invitation before,  still salty with him for his last stunt, but she had not needed it to get in. When she was driving by, wrung out and exhausted, it seemed like a good enough option over driving farther to find any of the other seedy places also owned by mobsters.

She planned to never even see Penguin at all, just avoid him in general. It had been an easy enough plan and she pulled it off spectacularly! There had been enough people initially, a small crowd curious to see what became of Mooney's nightclub that she slipped in with them as snug as a glove.  Jayme got in, got a drink, and zipped into a booth without being seen by those sharp,  birdie eyes, and she was proud of that. 

Part of her wanted him to know she'd been there,  but for him to find out later - she paid with a card on purpose so he would catch it at the end of the night when he went over receipts - so she could avoid the hassle and leave him unsure.  She wanted him on uneven footing,  unsure how they stood. It seemed fairer that way. 

Unfortunately, it thinned out again.  People were skittish,  dithering on how the new power balance would really fall,  so they scurried in and out like cockroaches with a light flicking on and off.  But since it was a lull, she could not exactly get up unnoticed. 

She glanced the mobster's way, lifting up enough to get another look, and was annoyed to find him still front and center even if his back was partly turned. Oswald needed waiters, that's what he needed, for customers like herself with no desire to get up out of the back corner both.  At some point, she'd have to suggest that.  Maybe leave that as anonymous feedback?

Though she wanted another drink she also did not actually want to be spotted by the highly observant host and his incessant prowling by the door. Regardless of her instant refusal to his forward, though somehow shyly hopeful, hand delivered invitation that showed keenly that he desperately needed to be social with normal people, she had come to his opening. He would see it as validation, acceptance, she knew, and she was not ready to give him that. 

At the same time,  she did feel a bit... sad to see the place so empty on opening night. After all the obvious work put into the place, even if it still kind of looked the same, it felt wrong to see so few gathered. Opening night should have been... well, more exciting with a great turnout, not scattered people the wind blew in and out. Even if the band had bowler hats, was of the opinion that there were "no more heroes anymore," and could not be bothered to go much past that for song content, they were not horrible. They were not to her taste, but they were to some people's. She never went to live concerts anyway, not since she was a teen, so what did she know?

She wondered if it had a little to do with loyalty.  Fish had been around for a while, and word got around that it was Oswald that overthrew her in the end, which Oswald would have to battle. It seemed odd to be loyal to a mobster, but there was no doubt some people were.

The ice clinked against the fine glass like music when she swirled it in her hand. She glared down a tipsy twenty-something who looked at her like he actually thought she would want company. If he blew her cover, she would absolutely play fill in bouncer and throw him out on his ear. He wavered, staring at her from the bar; some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because he wheeled right back to the dance floor to find more amiable people. It only occurred to her after the fact that he might have brought her a drink if she played nice, but then, she never had been accused of being friendly.

She sighed and settled back into her corner of shadow, propping her feet up on the end of the booth. It was nice, a pretty set up.  The color was a lot better than the old look, she had to say.  It looked classier without those red lamps - though she thought he should have gotten rid of the lamps entirely, not just changed their color - and all the red in general. He must have worked hard to change it; she could just see him in her mind's eye, ruining around like a chicken.  It looked good anyway, better than it ever did.   

Of course, that was biased considering Jayme never cared much for Fish. Getting strung up in a meat packing plant sort of dampened her view of the woman a touch.  Harvey might have forgiven it but Jayme could not say as she had. 

She tapped her fingernails against the glass,  looking at her surrounding more critically. There was no fundamental reason for people not to be there. There was a band, a nice setting, liquor, all the key factors.  Yet there was little but some ugly looking patrons dancing like brainless idiots and scattered groups at tables which made it feel abandoned. 

Not what the new owner envisioned, no doubt. Oswald kept fretting over everything, features of his narrow face pinched as he continuously straightening things he'd already fixed. He looked up at every sound, desperate to see more people walking in, she expected. His face was guarded but the crushing disappointment was clear and he looked pitiful enough she almost wanted to forgive him. 

Maybe that was the case talking? She might just be easy to sway tonight. Coming in had been an outlet to drown out the memory of the horrible ambulance ride with Jonathan Crane.  Things had not gone well since they first set eyes on Gerald in the pool house but finding Jonathan convulsing on the ground had been a step or five over her tolerance level. He was just a kid and he did not deserve to go through that, but Gotham seemed to like being hard on kids. 

He thrashed and screamed as she held onto him and wondered if he would make it. She felt so helpless, trying to talk him through it but getting nowhere past his terror. He was too young to go through that. She wished his father was still alive to see what he'd done. 

Jayme kicked back the rest of her drink, resigned to getting up for another and being spotted.  At this point, she was not in the mood to care. 

She had been nothing but angry for a while, maybe even a few months. After Jack Gruber, Arkham Asylum, and Commissioner Loeb, she'd hardly had time to think or process it all. Captain Essen only had her back so far as she could,  and that was not entirely far enough,  though it was considerably more than she'd had to start with. 

Arnold Flass though, he'd about been her breaking point. The coward, dirty, pathetic coward killing poor Leon Winkler at the police station was enough but the subsequent cover-up had driven her to want blood. She understood she needed to fight a little dirty to get what she needed but she had not thought it through enough.  Getting the evidence, the tape and the ice pick, had been all she cared about. At least until Delaware hit his knees in the alley and plead for his family like she was the monster hiding under their beds. 

It had been a revelation to realizes that the "favor" Copplepot did her was threatening innocent lives. It frightened and sickened her that it had gotten to that.  Though, what frightened her more was later, after the anger cooled and she realized she was not as upset as she should be that a dirty cop was afraid for a change. It scared her to know, deep in her darkest parts, she did not regret it and she might do it again if she had to.  She couldn't do it again though, she knew that.  But she felt the pull of temptation, and that was a terrifying beast to have lurking in the closet. 

She could not help wondering if this was exactly how it started with her father,  how he ended up apparently closer with Falcone than anyone knew.  Did someone threaten confessions out of some of his witnesses too?

She needed a lot more to drink if those thoughts kept coming!

For a girl who grew up in the suburbs of Gotham City, the daughter of a successful, righteous district attorney, she had a lot of darkness in her. Her perspective of Gotham was a lot different now than it had been when she was a child. Daddy's little girl had changed a lot since she was nine and riding in the car.

It was that little girl who joined the army and became a war hero by the time she retired from the service. Who she was now,  in Gotham,  she was starting not to recognize. After returning to her idolized home city, she joined the Gotham City Police Department in hopes of cleaning up like her father would have wanted.  She could see now how much she romanticized the idea in her own mind but she had not given up on the ideal.

Her body tensed and she jerked her feet to the floor when the door opened,  letting in an expensive suit with big, board shoulders, ugly matching tie with a pocket square, and a smarmy shark smile. There was someone they all knew was bad news and bad for business. He swayed as he walked, like all the linebackers she had known in school; self-assured, self-absorbed, and entitled. The last time she'd seen Salvatore Moroni, he'd been unconscious in the GCPD. A considerable amount of things had happened since then, and none of them entirely good. 

Word was, Moroni wanted blood, exactly like Fish had.  Strange how those two responded exactly the same way when placed in the same situation. Oswald was not very good with making friends,  just enemies. 

So far, Oswald had not noticed him swagger in, too absorbed in his clearly morose thoughts and pouring out the champagne into glasses that might not be drunk by anyone but the staff at this point. It was blatantly obvious he was not ready for a surprise attack. Though, even for Moroni, striking now was considerably bold, at least to try to kill the smaller man. It was perfectly possible he was that full of hubris though, or he simply planned to smash up the club. Jayme would not stand for it either way, not if she was sitting right there.

Her hand strayed to the gun still perched in her holster, watching Moroni's every move and wondering if she would have to step in or if the club had enough security of their own. The last time she went toe to toe with a mob boss, she came out with several bullet holes and quite a few reminders why it was a bad idea.  No one ever accused her of being sensible though, or knowing when to stay down and play dead. 

She eased out of the booth, shifting to the shadowed wall.  The advantage would be hers if she needed it as none of them knew she was there. Oswald's people probably had guns too but that did not mean they all needed to pull them even if the room was not packed.  The question was, could she defuse the situation before it got to that?

"Penguin!" Moroni called, less threat and challenge in his voice than expected. Even so, she slipped the gun from her holster.

Oswald turned to look, eyes widening, now very aware of his precarious position, and he turned tail to flee. Against three he did not have a chance. Retreat was, actually, sensible considering there was no way the former snitch was prepared for this kind of fight. His limp was pronounced though, gate slowed by it, inhibiting his ability to honestly run from the danger. Moroni and his thugs were too close anyway, that slow of a retreat would not have been sufficient.

"Where're you going?" Moroni was smiling, his two gorilla's at his sides, entirely pleased with the high ground it afforded him.

Knowing futility when he was faced with it, Oswald turned back sharply to face his adversary with nothing more fortifying than a deep breath, limping back again, holding the bottle like a shield, "Don Moroni," Oswald said with poorly put on happiness, "such a pleasure to see you."

The patrons were paying far more attention to the exchange now than they had been the music, veiling it badly by watching from the corner of their eyes and behind hands. This was the new entertainment of the evening for the few people in attendance. It might well have been what they had been waiting for. No, it probably was what they were there for and what others stayed away for.

This could get ugly. But no one had guns or knives out yet, save herself, so she let it play until she could be sure what it was.

"Look at you," Moroni beamed that sharp smile, "from the trunk of my car to running your own club." He looked around pointedly, sharing glances with his men to be sure they found him amusing and validated his humor, "Place looks good, Penguin. Hell of a turnout." He simpered with dripping sarcasm.

Was he only there to throw insults? Could she really be so fortunate as to be witnessing Moroni letting it go without initiating a real fight? Could his recent near-death experience have softened him just a little? Maybe she was worried, on pins and needles for no reason at all. And pigs could fly, of course! Holding in a sigh, she eased forward, trying to check on whether or not those would be the only men following their boss in.

Oswald looked like he was ready to turn inside-out but held himself together anyway, "How about a table? Drinks?" She bet he'd like to poison them, especially with the way he openly looked demure save that gleam in his eyes, "My compliments, of course."

Sal swayed his huge shoulder, very much like a gorilla himself, playing at getting a look at the bottle, "Expensive stuff." When he took the bottle from Oswald, Jayme's stress rocked considerably higher, afraid one of them would try smashing it and use the shards to fight to the death, "Let me see?"

Jayme moved in closer, past the nearest booth, but they were engrossed in each other, their private standoff. She could pull her gun and have them on the floor in seconds with no damage to the crowd at all. Even the thugs were relaxed, not expecting to be ambushed. Part of her still hesitated to get involved though, not when it was a fight like this, with people around, and not being completely sure what the play was yet. If it was just intended to intimidate, her involvement might make it worse. Still, if they pulled guns, she could fell them before they used them.

"I had a little chat with Falcone." He was still smiling but it was too sour to be genuine, "I came here to let you know that all is kosher between us." Moroni snapped a hand against Oswald's cheek, making both he and Jayme jump in surprise and she clicked off the safety, finger moving to the trigger. "As long as you don't go giving Falcone any more of my secrets." The man shook his finger in Oswald's face.

Did Falcone really sway the other Don? How?

Oswald stared him down defiantly, but his voice was still quiet, "No, nothing like that."

Perhaps she really should let Oswald handle this? If the threat was not imminent, if they were just dancing around each other, would she really be helping at this point if she entered the battle? There was also the added problem of openly showing what they would consider being an affiliation with Penguin. If it was not a potential bloodbath, was she ready or willing to handle the fallout of siding with any mobster when she proclaimed not to have any part in their world? No one would believe her if she defended Oswald at his own club.

No, she could not and would not step in if there was no danger to civilians. Defending the crowd she could justify, but not putting herself up in the spotlight as Oswald's personal guard. She took a deciding step back, subtly disengaging to avoid notice. She did not have to help him this time, she was not even supposed to be there.

"Of course not." The words were accompanied by a gentler pat to the cheek from the big man.

She very much doubted it was that easy. Someone like that did not simply back off, did they? Not when secrets like Oswald must have lurking in his seedy mind were hanging in the balance. The hand Maroni settle on Oswald's shoulder was less than amicable and they all knew it. Still, she slid the gun into her pocket in smooth reach if she needed it. Moroni had no weapon but the bottle now, so it seemed safe enough. The grip was visibly firm, right on the back of that bird neck while Moroni insisted on filling a glass he put into Oswald's hand. It was the most obvious intimidation play she had ever seen, a hulking man towering over a smaller man for show. It was no better than anything she had ever seen at a schoolyard.

"You better hope that old man Falcone lives a looong life. Because the  _second_ he's out of the picture, so are you!"

Oswald looked like a frightened deer as the liquid, the expensive liquid started flowing over the sides of the cup. He tried to move away but that hand held him in place. He looked vulnerable and out of his depth. He was visibly losing his facade, the fear trickling out the cracks. Maroni was a considerably larger player than Mooney, one of the Dons, and that rightly warranted more fear of him as an enemy. Even Falcone did not openly go against another Don. Oswald looked so frightened and so utterly alone in his predicament it made something twist painfully inside her.

One minute Jayme was disengaging and the next she had that bottle in her hand, swaying her hips as she glided backward out of Moroni's reach, smiling cattily. She had no idea how she went from deciding to let it be to rushing over and taking something from a mob boss' hand, but she was rather committed now.

They were all staring at her, dumbstruck, but she had surprised herself as much as the crowd. There was little to do but smile confidently and pretend she had some manner of a plan.

"Don't spill it!" She admonished as she leaned up against a table she felt behind her. She still had the full view of the entrance and most of the room so she should be fine. "Kind of clumsy of you." She could walk away and pretend she was drunk, not get involved any deeper. She could.

Moroni, shock rendering him a little wrong-footed, dropped his hand off Oswald, "Excuse me?" He shook himself, "This is a conversation between friends and I don't remember including you in it, babe."

She arched a brow at him, feeling that fire ignite inside her, the one that always got her into trouble with authority figures, "That was no conversation between friends.  _Buddy boy_."

The muscle in that big jaw got tighter, and oh, she loved seeing that! She loved watching the bloom of irritation on the faces of any man who thought they were above the rules when she pushed them. Men like these were not used to being pushed back at, not used to anyone talking back. She loved that moment their brains visibly had to re-calibrate and work to process that anyone would even consider challenging them on anything.

"Alright, alright, we get it! We  _know,_ okay!" She said dramatically, intentionally drawing all remaining eyes on herself like the fool she was, "I'll never understand men and their need to..." she made a pointed glance down at the man's crotch, " _measure_  size  _constantly_."

Oswald's jaw fell open and he looked at her, intense gaze a mixture of open shock and utter adoration, like he thought she had both rescued him and sentenced him to death in the same instance. No doubt he was right.

The men lingering in the wings of the Don stepped forward, looking at her the way they likely would a rabid animal frothing at the mouth. If it was possible for big, strapping, men with jowls and beady eyes to look scandalized, she would say they were. The musicians were not even trying to cover things up with music, they were listening and trying to decide if they should run. They knew she was making a mistake, the whole room knew she was making a mistake just as much as she knew it herself. That did not mean she had the sense to back out quickly.

Jayme kept her eyes on Moroni though, for the most part as she hammed it up for their crowd, faking sincerity, "Do we need to get out a ruler to solve this thing a little sooner? Would that help?" She gave an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, "Though why you men bother, I'll never understand.  After all, every woman knows it's not size, but  _skill_  that actually matters."

The tension in the room was climbing rapidly, so of course, she was about to make it worse. 

Moroni did not miss his chance,  taking the opening she provided,  leering at her with that toothy smile, "How's Penguin's skill then, hmmm? I'm guessing you know from experience?" She knew he would say that, though Oswald did not seem to judging by the indignation painted on his face.

Jayme very pointedly looked around the room and made an encompassing gesture at the club proper, "Better than yours, it would seem, if I'm looking at it right."

She felt more than heard the collective gasp go around the room.  Everyone, especially Sal, could read the multiple meanings, double entendre in her statement. That stout jaw worked again, clenching tight as those dark eyes sparked obsidian, meaty fists tightening. Oswald tried to cover an ill-timed laugh with a coughing fit while simultaneously looking like he might faint.

"I'm right," she offered sweetly light and assured, "you know I'm right.  All this chest pounding and posturing you boys are doing. .. it means only one thing in the end.  Honesty, I'm helping you, because it's getting embarrassing to watch."

The big man sent a withering glance at Oswald and anyone that might have a hint of a smile on their lips before he turned his blazing gaze back to her, "I helped you out not that long ago, you know? So why you gotta start with me now? Huh? I thought we worked out some goodwill."

Jayme nodded amicably, "Which is why I haven't shot you yet. Yeah. But honestly, I didn't let the Electrocutioner kill you, so I think we're actually about even."

He cocked his head to one side, running his tongue over his teeth, "Maybe we should table this discussion for later. This is a party, after all!" He spread his hands, indicating the club's silent clientele.

She shrugged, easing herself up to perch on the tabletop, taking note of how carefully everyone was listening, "Oh, sure, but when you do wanna talk, we should talk about that bank robbery old Jack was after you for," she pointed the end of the bottle at him with a grin, "the one where you stole his share of the take and sent him up! He really didn't like that, if you remember."

Oswald's eyes were huge as plates and he seemed to only be able to stare at her with that strange mix of wonder and horror he was so good at. He had a way of mixing facial expressions that were fascinating to watch.

Sal visibly shook that off like a duck might water and he was smiling tight and wide, "Jem, baby, how much have you had to drink tonight, huh? I'm getting the feelin' you're not thinkin' clearly as you should."

Jayme allowed herself a long laugh to let him think she'd had more than she really had. It would play in her favor on multiple counts and she knew it. It would make him underestimate her, more than he already did, and that was always helpful in a battle. It would really help her if word got back to anyone she worked with because she could pass it all off with a lack of memory. "What? A girl can't have a drink in this town?" She waved the bottle at him accusingly, "Listen, buddy! I've had a very long day! I deserve a glass or two if I want, so shut it!"

She dearly enjoyed saying that too, almost as much as she enjoyed insinuating his lack of talent. Men were so very touchy about that!

The jaw went to work again but the smile stayed, "Babe, I think you should go home, butt out of things that don't concern you."

Moroni snapped his fingers and his men lumbered toward her with those grim expressions. Regardless, their posture was easy, relaxed, clearly broadcasting how little they expected her to resist. Men often did that in any setting. The moment they saw her, saw she was a woman, they forgot everything else. They forgot she was trained as not only an officer but a soldier as well; forgot she was more than handy with a gun; forgot she was intelligent as well as brashly outspoken.

She loved it when men grossly underestimated her, it made it all the sweeter when she put them down with a single hit.  It was probably her favorite thing in the world. Gruber was right about that, she loved winning, would do about anything to win because she hated loosing immensely.

One quick swing of her leg, a heel planted right in the side of the closest man's jaw dropped him like a potato sack. Stepping over that one and an upper thrust with the heel of her hand to the nose had the second on his knees. A hit like that, if she had wanted it to, could have killed him had she not pulled the punch. There was a wild, feral look on her face, she was sure, so she did her best to smooth it out to keep them from understanding how much she always enjoyed putting a bully in their place.

With intent to make them remember it was a woman that put them on the floor, there was more sway in her hips as she walked around the guards, bypassed Moroni and Cobblepot to set the bottle down on the table where it had been before. She turned, expression evened out nicely by now, never having fully taken her eyes off Moroni's slack jaw, to flash a sharp smile of her own. "I'm fine, but thank you. I can make my own way if I want to leave."

In all honesty, she knew better than to leave now unless she wanted to wind up in even more trouble. It was better to let men like Sal cool off before you went anywhere near them. They did not hold their tempers well enough in the moment and would explode before they really thought about their actions. Moroni played at cool and collected like Falcone, but he was brash and sparked like a fire on paper. She knew his type and they never had the control they pretended they did. Tomorrow he would be angry with her but he would also be more able to reason out the reasons killing her was unwise after a fight. She was far from well loved, but Falcone himself had let her live before for much worse, and he would look foolish if he killed her for an insult.

That would not save her forever. She knew he would remember this evening. Next time they met for any reason this would be on his mind, she knew that. She should have never gotten involved, but that was true of a lot of things in her life, but she never found it in herself to be honestly sorry about rushing in where angel's feared to tread. That was sort of her trademark move.

Oswald looked at her like she performed a miracle while Moroni looked like he wanted to pull a gun. She saw him come close, start to reach inside his jacket before he halted his meaty fingers. She could see the wheels turning in his head, could feel how much he wanted to at least grab her and shake her like a rag doll. The anger in his eyes was clear enough to read for a blind man, but the flame was eased lower as the man took a breath. He mulled it over, studying her, thinking everything over. Maybe he did decide he owed her for keeping him alive because he dropped his hand.

Oswald let out a breath he must have been holding, his own shoulders sagging slightly with relief. His hands were shaking and his eyes were so wide, but there was a little of that murderous rage in them she had seen there the first day she ever saw him with that bat in his hand. In some ways she always suspected Oswald was more dangerous than Maroni, to some strange extent; his rapid rise in the food chain at least partly proved she was right. She wondered what he might have done if things had escalated. Not that she cared to find out, it was better not to know.

Regardless, the mob boss looked over his men as they picked themselves up off the floor and he laughed, seemingly jolly, "You're a tough cookie, Jem! I gotta respect that." He winked, but there was a more sinister feel too it than simple flirting, "I like girls with spirit!"

Jayme cracked her knuckles and then examined her nails for a second before looking at him again, pretending she hardly noticed, "Good to know, I guess."

"I see why your people started calling you that. You're a diamond in the rough, aren't you?" Moroni chuckled again, waving a finger at her like he was actually amused rather than faking it.

"Harvey started it, actually, when he kept saying I was a 'real gem' every time he was mad at me." She offered offhandedly, smiling with as many teeth as she could. "It kind of stuck."

Maroni dusted imaginary dust from one sleeve before he straightened his jacket, waving his disheveled men toward the door, "Well, it's been real! I guess I'll be seeing you two around later!" He clicked his tongue at them with yet another wink before he turned and exited the way he came.

She watched him leave, thankful Barbara did not even live in Gotham anymore and would not notice if her flatmate did not come home. Jayme had no intention of leaving for a good few hours, maybe until it was just about time for work in the morning.

The club was open very late into the night so it was not really a problem. She had no intention of getting a bag thrown over her head when she walked out the door, so a late night it was. Give them time to move on and get bored of stewing out in the car, because she was sure they would for a while. Better not to further risk being "accidentally" run over on the street. Staying late would make her shift positively horrible the next day though, but she just wanted to unwind, especially since she had no hope of sleeping anyway, not without risking a dream visit from a screaming teen.

No good deed went unpunished. Saving Oswald must have been a good deed as she was bound to be punished for it.

To think, she only planned to have one or two drinks before she went home and crashed. She should have known going to this particular club was a nearly suicidal idea, she really should have. Harvey would have her head when he heard about it. Though she had every intention of swearing she had no memory of the encounter. Harvey might not buy it at all but the others would. Drunken blackouts were a wonderful thing to blame something like this on.

"You came after all!" Was the first thing Oswald said after the general shock had worn off and the band was playing again, sycophantic smile over bright as he stared at her.

Jayme sighed, long and loud, meandering back to her booth and dropping onto it, Oswald shuffling behind her like a lost puppy, "It was a very long day, and it got a little longer a few minutes ago."

Oswald slid into the other end of the booth, eyes wide with focused interest, "So you were on a difficult case then." The 'I was right' remained subtext.

She failed to keep the tint of sadness from her voice, "It was, for a lot of reasons." The ice in her glass had melted down and she stared at it, feeling oddly betrayed by the lack of useful liquid in the tumbler.

"Let me get you another drink! On the house!" Oswald was quick to read her mind and jump into action, snapping his fingers at the bartender to get her another round.

Jayme chuckled and set her head down on the back of the booth before it could turn into a full out hysterical laughing fit.

"You look exhausted," Oswald observed, stating the obvious easily with that oddly sincere voice he occasionally pulled out.

"I am." She agreed, "And I came here to unwind, of all things."

He looked properly apologetic, eyes stricken and pitifully round, like he actually cared, "I'm so very sorry you were dragged into that! Honestly! Though I'm thankful for your assistance, of course! No doubt it would only have gotten uglier had you not stepped in on my behalf." Oswald only briefly gripped her wrist before letting go and drawing his hand back to his lap, "If he bothers you in any way, please tell me immediately!"

She sat up suddenly, "Speaking of! Where in the world were your guards!" She motioned in agitation at the room, "You kind of needed them around about then!"

Oswald put up his hands to placate, "Believe me, I'm going to remedy that first thing! I was clearly remiss in that particular department, which is an oversight I will rectify."

She looked at him and his scrawny stature, "You better, because I might not be around next time. Always be prepared for things like that." Now she was giving a killer advice? Where was that drink?

"I assure you, I will, Jayme! Truly!"

Finally, the drinks were on the table and she snatched hers up to slam back half of it in one go. She was going to catch it at work so she might as well be hungover for that chewing out. They already thought she was crazy for saving a snitch the first time, but she just kept doing it. They were starting to give her side-eyed looks every time Penguin's name came up.

At least the man would not refuse her drinks and she doubted he would even make her pay for them. She went out for a drink, just a drink, and at least she was going to get that. She'd had quite the night so she deserved them, honestly. Tomorrow would bring more trouble but for now she finally had a drink.Maybe not the best attitude but she would live with that. She might even get lucky, maybe no one would tell stories on her since there weren't that many people in attendance.

* * *

Harvey stood from his desk, swinging his feet off it as he jumped up when he saw her, "Tell me it's a lie! Tell me it's a vicious rumor and nothing more! Please, Jem?"

That scruffy face looked at her with so much hope, big eyes begging as he slid his glasses to the top of his head, pushing back his long hair. It was a shame to torment him with the truth, it really was. After all, he had a long day too. They went through it together up until she went to the club. His rumpled suit looked like he spent a long night in it and never changed.

News in Gotham traveled about the same speed as it did in small towns. Entirely too fast! Suddenly she remembered that plan she had to play dumb and act like she remembered nothing at all. It was still a sound strategy. She offered her very best face of innocence, one that worked on most people, but Harvey's entire countenance dropped, hope vanquished as he withered back into his rickety chair.

"I know you said you were done being careful - which I could still argue, by the way - but this?" Harvey pounded his desk with his fist, "You know how to get on everyone's good side, don't you! I'm beginning to think you do it on purpose! That you go out and get yourself into these situations intentionally!"

Edward and his huge grin behind the huge glasses sneaked in beside her to slide his willowy body into a sitting position on her desk, ruffling up his lab coat, "So, what's this I heard about you dressing down Moroni?"

She turned her innocent face into an innocently confused face, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Lie to the world, Jem," Harvey shook his head, "but not to me!"

She pursed her lips before shrugging, "Hypothetically, if I had seen him while I was out, though I'm not saying I was... I might have insinuated his manhood was highly questionable and likely small."

"Holy rolling toasters, Jem!" Harvey snapped, "Are you crazy? Positively crazy?"

Edward's smile positively glowed like a light bulb with excitement, "What, hypothetically, did Moroni say to your hypothetical insinuation of his small stature?"

The door the the Captain's office swung wide as the older woman, looking a little frazzled and a lot like she had just run her hands through her hair in frustration, emerged. Her eyes instantly lighted on their little circle, and she looked a bit manic, "Jayme... My office. Now." And in too much upset to use more than clipped sentences. Good. That was going to bode well.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's face it, Gotham needs more strong ladies that aren't villains or die a few episodes in. So I made one. 
> 
> Also, I was THIS close to making Harvey a woman too but I changed my mind at the last second. I always hated Harvey as a character until this show, and now I like Bullock, so I couldn't bring myself to change him.
> 
> I'll be honest, after watching the episode again I just wanted to see someone rush in and take Moroni down a notch. And here we are! I also love the idea of mouthy female Jim that likes to joke about all these macho men and their manhood. Sooooo many macho men in this show!!! They need their overinflated egos punctured so badly, sorry, not sorry!


End file.
